


Won Him in a Game of Wicked Grace

by ImDoney



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Card Games, Drinking, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Purple Hawke, Takes place sometime during Act II, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImDoney/pseuds/ImDoney
Summary: Isabela downs her drink with a devilish smile. The glass makes an audible clink. Her smile doesn’t waver as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.She leans into the middle of the table. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she says, “I do what I want.”-Hawke and Isabela play a game of Wicked Grace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the March Prompt Challenge at /r/fanfiction. I got the trope Lost Him in a Card Game for my prompt. It was surprisingly fun to write. Here is the post thread! https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/62d015/prompts_challenge_round_11_post/

Varric tosses a pack of Wicked Grace cards onto their table at The Hanged Man, taking a long swig of his mug. “Who wants to play the first game?”

 

“Ooh, I will!” Isabela says. She scans her friends around her; they all look anywhere but her eyes. Merrill covers her face with her hands, Aveline talks to Varric, Fenris orders a drink, and Anders suddenly bends down to the floor, out of her view.

 

All his friends have deserted Hawke. The empty wall, far away from Isabela’s eyes, looks nice to stare at. At least until Isabela has already chosen her victim.

 

“Ah! Hawke, why don’t we have the first game?”

 

Isabela takes the cards out of the pack. Damn.

 

“Of course,” Hawke says, taking a drink of his mug. He’d need it, for the amount of money he would be losing tonight would be unbearable sober. “But just so you know, I’ve been practicing.”

 

The quip is visible on her lips before she even begins to say it.

 

Isabela hums, disregarding any biting remark she could have said, a smirk forming on her lips as she shuffles the pack of cards. Hawke looks around at his friends. His friends would have been blind before they didn’t see that smirk. Fenris sits next to Isabela, hands fiddling with his gauntlets. Varric’s arm is dangerously close to a server girl’s waist prompting Aveline to roll her eyes, shaking her head in dismay. Merrill’s mouth tightens into a frown; she’s talking to Anders, who sat down next to her. Hawke would bet two sovereigns that he is talking about the dangers of blood magic, or mages and templars. He looks around once more, just for good measure.

 

He is the only one who saw it.

 

A mischievous glint shines in Isabela’s eyes. She hands the cards to Varric, who turns away from the server girl and cuts the deck. He deals out five cards to each.

 

Isabela smiles. That smile— one that someone could mistake as just a quirk of the lips— is calculated. Hawke has been burned by that smile many times. He looks away, to his cards. If he lets Isabela get in his head, he would lose.

 

A pair of serpents and a pair of knights, with one songs card. A middle of the road deck. A head start that he needs to win, one that Isabela hopefully doesn’t have.

 

“Now,” Varric says, placing the deck down in the middle of the table, “what are you guys going to bet? Nothing less than a sovereign.”

 

Hawke sets his cards face-down on the table and fishes some coins out of his pocket. Stupidity would be expecting to win this round, no matter how confident he feels playing someone like Merrill. He puts down three sovereigns. It wouldn’t due to stroke Isabela’s ego anymore, but he’d look cheap with anything less.

 

“That’s all?” Isabela says, pouting. “You’re no fun.” She glances down to her cards before scanning the eyes of the group. “I’ll be betting Anders.”

 

Her last words hang in the air. Their table is a bubble of quiet in the noisy tavern. It takes a second for what she said to process in Hawke’s mind.

 

Anders springs up from the chair. “What?”

 

“I placed my bet.” Isabela sips her drink. The glass doesn’t hide her smirk.

 

“You—you can’t just,” Anders fumbles with his words, the tips of his ears turning red. “You can’t just bet people!”

 

Isabela glances to Varric. Anders looks to him, too, pleading.

 

“Well.” A smile creeps into Varric’s face and he raises his hands in mock defense. “It makes a good story.”

 

“See? I definitely can bet people.”

 

Anders sputters, his whole face red.

 

“Hawke,” Fenris says, “I’d forfeit. She’s just trying to pawn him off to you.” He punctuates it with a sip of his drink. It does a better job of hiding his smirk.

 

Anders’s collarbone has splotchy redness. Hawke hears him take a deep breath. Oh. He looks up and sees him shooting a glare at Fenris that would work more effectively on any person _except_ him.

 

“You don’t own me—you can’t just bet me.”

 

Merrill nods, nose scrunched. “Yes, how can you gamble something you don’t own?”

 

“Well, Kitten, it’s simple.” Isabela downs her drink with a devilish smile. The glass makes an audible clink. Her smile doesn’t waver as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

She leans into the middle of the table. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she says, “I do what I want.”

 

Anders inhales sharply. Merrill still looks confused.

 

“I’m leaving,” Anders says, pushing in his chair. He turns around, starting to walk from the table.

 

“Hey, hey,” Hawke says. “You aren’t expecting me to actually win, are you?”

 

Anders turns back. “Well…”

 

“Exactly.” Hawke pulls out Anders’s chair, even though he has to reach around Merrill to do it.

 

Isabela sighs exaggeratedly. “Besides, what would poor, single, _lonely_ , Hawke even do with you, anyway?”

 

“Isabela!” Aveline yells. Isabela chuckles.

 

Anders’s face flares red, but he still sits. He drinks his glass in one go and gets a refill. “Just get the game started already.”

 

It hits Hawke, then. He doesn’t have time to chide her because she is already speaking.

 

“Don’t need to tell us twice, right, Hawke?” Isabela takes the initiative and draws and discards her first cards. In the discard pile, she places a serpents card.

 

Isabela takes a moment to refill her drink and flirt with the server girl. She winks.

 

Hawke doesn’t waste his chance. He takes the serpents and discards his songs card. Anders looks utterly betrayed, his mouth almost to the floor.

 

Oops.

 

Isabela turns her attention back to the game. She eyes the card in the discard pile before drawing. After throwing an angels card in the discard pile, she throws a sovereign in the betting pile.

 

His hand is four serpents and a knight. If his guess is right, then they could draw the Angel of Death soon. He has a good enough hand to win. Isabela’s smile never leaves her face. The air hangs thick with tenseness.

 

Sweat runs down the side of his face, both from anticipation and the heat of the tavern. He draws a card— _the_ card.

 

The Angel of Death.

 

“Look what I have here, Isabela.” Hawke waves the card, showing it around the table. He sets it in the discard pile and shows his hand. “Four serpents and a knight.”

 

“Awww.” Isabela shows her hand to the table: three songs, two knights. “I lose!”

 

Varric makes a whistling noise. Aveline sighs.

 

And Anders. He looks at Isabela’s cards, color draining out of his face.

 

“I did say I’d been practicing.”

 

Isabela’s smile looks strained as she, keeping eye contact with Hawke, motions slightly to Anders’s with her head.

 

Oh.

 

How did he not get it? More importantly, nobody noticed that obvious gesture?

 

Hawke gathers up the money on the table. He’s only one sovereign richer, but Isabela has done him a favor tonight worth more than coins.

 

“You know,” Anders says, ends of his words slightly slurring together, “that you don’t own me now, right?”

 

“Of course.” He stands. This is enough Wicked Grace for the evening, probably enough to last the whole week. “But I can still walk you home, right?”

 

It feels like the whole tavern goes silent. Varric snorts and grins at Isabela, who grins back.

 

Anders stands up wavering to the side before he regains his footing. “Yeah.”

 

“We’ll be off then.” Hawke glances to Anders. “Think he’s had too much to drink!”  He walks over and slides his arm around his shoulders. For support. Even though Anders can’t be that drunk, unless he’s a lightweight or he drank all of the tavern’s stock. It isn’t all bad, however. Anders’s warmth is seeping into his skin and he is closer to him than he’s ever been. “Thanks for the game, Isabela.”

 

“Anytime, Hawke,” she calls, shuffling the cards back into the deck, “anytime.”

 

Hawke turns around, Anders leaning against him as they make their way down the stairs and out of The Hanged Man. He opens the door with the hand that isn’t connected to the arm draped around Anders, the stuffiness of the bar washed away by a cool breeze. Ah, the scent of Lowtown. Did he ever miss it?

 

No, no he didn’t.

 

Anders yawns, leaning onto Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke swallows. How much did he himself have to drink, again? He doesn’t taste the disgusting Hanged Man specialty brew on his tongue, but in the haze of Isabela’s bet and the stakes of that Wicked Grace game, he could have downed many mugs.

 

Maybe he should have asked Aveline to walk them both home.

 

Hawke bites the inside of his cheek. Lowtown is dangerous, Darktown even more. They could get mugged—no, they would get mugged— and anything that would happen after that would be fair game.

 

“Anders…”

 

“Hawke?”

 

When was the last time the words didn’t come to him? When was the last time insecurity pooled and made it difficult to speak?

 

Oh, of course. Literally any time he was alone with Anders.

 

“I was wondering…”

 

“Yeahhh?”

 

Hawke's lips quirk until they shift into a serious expression. He took shaky breaths until his breathing settled. Anders looks at him with a curious expression.

 

“We both know the types that come out at night in Lowtown and Darktown.” He runs his free hand through his hair and plasters on that charming grin that always seems to work. “So, you wanna spend the night with me?”

 

Anders looks at him for a moment. Hawke’s heart might pound out of his chest.

 

“Are you…”

 

It would be easy to pull his arm away from Anders, completely separate and walk him to Darktown like how Aveline would, but he doesn’t. Did that mean Anders was thinking about what they would do? Shit, he has to stop thinking!

 

“I have a guest room…”

 

“Oh.” A moment passes and Anders nods up and down, the pieces of his disheveled hair swaying. “Then, I— _yes_.”

 

A smile finds a place on his lips. He sounds so earnest—adorable. “Then, let’s hope we don’t get mugged.”

 

He snorts, leaning further into Hawke. “That’s all that goes through my mind when I walk through Darktown.” He pauses, looking at the ground. Anders closes his eyes, sighing before he opens them looking far more tired than he did a second ago. “Let’s get going.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Every step in Lowtown is familiar, no surprises in the form of new buildings or thugs. With Anders by his side, the moonlight illuminating the unkempt streets in Lowtown, and the general feeling of unease, it feels like just yesterday he arrived in Kirktown with no money to his name and much to prove.

 

“Sorry, I’m not my usual delightful self. Lots on my mind.”

 

The pavement is becoming a bit nicer, step by step. Everything is. They’re close to Hightown. Which means they’re close to the Hawke estate, which means that Anders is going to be in his house. At night. And with most likely not a soul awake.

 

“It’s fine. I don’t expect that of you.”

 

“ _What_!” He stops moving, takes his arm off of Anders (even though his heart aches at that) places his hands on his hips and tops it off with a raised eyebrow. “You mean that I don’t look like the kinda guy who thinks?”

 

Anders laughs, light, unabashed, maybe caused by the alcohol no doubt running through his veins. He’s probably laughing too loud for the area between Lowtown and Hightown; they’re lucky they didn’t get jumped on the way over, but there is still a chance. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. But for the record, no.”

 

“Oh? You know I’ll never turn down an opportunity to be praised.”

 

Anders looks down to the left of them. There is nothing there but grass. “I’m aware. I could go on all night.”

 

Did he…?

 

His eyes meet Anders’s. A small smile cracks on his face.

 

He _did_.

 

“Well, the night is still young, after all. I’m not surprised.”

 

“You shouldn’t be.”

 

Hawke slings his arm around Anders, pulling him closer. Anders doesn’t resist. “Glad I didn’t disappoint.”

 

Anders hums, which dissolves in a yawn. “I’m tired. And cold.”

 

“I’d offer you my jacket, but all I have is my body.”

 

“That’s…” Red stains Anders’s cheeks and he chews his bottom lip. Delightful.

 

He should reign it in, or else he’ll end up screwing things up. A giddy feeling rises in his chest every time he makes Anders blush, so he won’t. If that blush would stain every part of his body because of him, only then would he be satisfied.

 

“Not too far, I hope?”

 

Anders shifts from foot to foot. “Just take me to a warm bed.”

 

Hawke starts walking and he can’t help himself anymore. He squeezes Anders’s shoulder. “Which bed is still up for discussion, hmm?”

 

Anders doesn’t say anything—not a good sign. There are few people out in Hightown tonight, not that Hawke cares about most of the people who would be out right now. As they walk, the only sounds they make are footsteps and breathing.

 

Now, they’ve arrived at the estate. Despite the silence, he kept his arm secured around Anders during the whole walk to the estate and Anders made no move to fight it. Hawke stops walking and takes his arm off of Anders.  

 

The key is in his pocket, or it should be. He hasn’t checked since he left the house. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he digs around for the key. Some copper bits, some crumpled up pieces of paper, an odd amount of lint, and finally, his key. He unlocks the door and opens it.

 

Requiring no further invitation, Anders steps inside. Hawke follows him into the main entrance. “Bodahn and Sandal should be asleep. Mother too.”

 

Anders stops and looks around the estate like he always does. Hawke has enough copies of his manifesto scattered around to show that Anders has been here enough to not gawk every time he visits. It’s also cute, so Hawke is never going to mention it for fear that he’ll stop.

 

“Here, I’ll show you to the guest room.”

 

Anders nods. Hawke leads him through his home and into the guest room. He goes to the fireplace and lights it. As he stirs it with the fireplace stick, Anders stands next to the door, looking out of place in the almost empty room. An empty dresser, red sheets that have been in the same position on the bed since he moved in, and a few dust bunnies collecting in the corner. The room is laughable. If he remembers, he’ll go shopping with his mother for decorations.

 

Anders slips off his shoes and shoves them with his foot next to the door. “Thank you,” he says.

 

“Anytime.” He pokes at the fireplace more. The fire lights up the room and heats up the area. Sweat starts to run down his face. Ew. His own bed seems a lot more appetizing right now. “Anything else, serah?”

 

“Actually, yes.” When Anders shuts the door, it doesn’t creak. He steps closer, and closer, and closer towards Hawke until their chests almost touch. His eyes narrow and his eyebrows furrow. “What are you trying to do, Hawke?”

 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Hawke takes a half step back.

 

“This.” Anders gestures out with his hand, to the room around him. “The flirting, the ’all I have to offer is my body,’ the ’I’ll walk you home’ and the ’actually nevermind let’s go back to my house even though it’s almost midnight…’” Anders frowns, stepping closer. “What do you get from playing with me like that?”

 

Hawke places a hesitant hand on Anders’s shoulder. His frown deepens, but he doesn’t flinch or pull away. He pushes them back a few feet away from the fireplace.

 

“I thought… Anders, what do you think I want?”

 

“I don’t know. Cheap entertainment?”

 

Hawke can’t help it. A low chuckle bubbles up in his throat. He takes his hand off of Anders’s shoulder and his chuckle breaks into a laugh. Anders's eyes widen in shock.

 

Until he starts laughing, too.

 

Unlike his own hysterical laugh, Anders’s laugh is grounded in reality. When did he last hear it? It doesn’t come to mind. What a shame. He drinks in the sound until their voices trail off.

 

“Oh, Anders, if I wanted cheap entertainment I’d go to The Blooming Rose,” Hawke says. “You’re entertaining, but I don’t think you’re cheap.” He taps a finger on his chin as if he is pondering the idea. “No, you’re worth more than a wench at the brothel.”

 

Anders cracks a smile. “Thank you. But then, if not to mess with me, then what? Because really.” His face settles back into a serious frown. “It’s messing with me.”

 

There’s no point in keeping quiet anymore. If Anders wants an answer, Hawke will give it to him. “I’m interested in you.”

 

All the color floods to Anders's face. He inhales sharply, exhales just as fast. “Romantically?”

 

It’s hard not to roll his eyes. “Yes,” he says.

 

“Oh.” Anders's mouth opens, shuts, again and again like a fish out of water.

 

Hawke places his hands on his shoulders, pulls him in, and kisses him. Anders makes a surprised noise. His lips are chapped, but they’re Anders’s and they’re warm. He smells like cheap alcohol. The desire that runs through him when he thinks about tasting it on his tongue is overwhelming.

 

He pulls away, hands still on his shoulders. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” he says. Hawke presses a quick peck to Anders’s lips. “Good night, Anders.” The door doesn’t creak when he opens it, and the floorboards don’t make a sound as he leaves the room.

 

He shuts the door gently behind him. It doesn’t register that he slumped against the doorway until he’s on the ground. His fingers touch his lips and he swallows.

  
He owes Isabela a much better thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Anders and I need to finish DA2.
> 
>  
> 
> The editing was a little bit (okay, a lot bit) rushed but I wanted to get this done in time for the deadline. Thanks for reading! I love all comments and criticism.


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